


Cross-Cultural Exchange

by rivendellrose



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, F/M, Fluff, Religion, Turians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivendellrose/pseuds/rivendellrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard has some questions about turian culture leading up to a visit to Palaven. Garrus isn't sure why she's worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross-Cultural Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> Pointless happy fluff - I really just wanted an excuse to get them chatting and show Shepard being curious about turian culture.

"Turians don't believe in gods, is that right?" 

Garrus straightened, setting aside the tablet he'd been reading for the last hour to regard Shepard curiously. "That's a random question."

"I know." Shepard laughed a little, embarrassed. "I was just thinking about how we've visiting your family next week, and how I don't want to make a fool of myself by saying or assuming something totally wrong. Some piece of crap that humans have believed since the war, y'know?" 

"Sure." Garrus nodded slowly. "In that case... most of us don't, that's true. But there's a lot of variety."

"Just like humans. Sure. See, this is why I figured I should ask..."

"Because culture is never as simple as they make it look like in the official info codices available to off-worlders? Yeah." Garrus' mandibles flicked out in a quick, wry smile before he continued. "Unlike with humans, there is an official religion of sorts on Palaven. Most people practice a... sort of a vague variety of what Liara calls animism."

"The Spirits," Shepard supplied, so that he'd know she was following.

"Exactly. From what I've read about that term, it's not nearly as exciting as a lot of cultures make it, now. In the distant past there was more like that, with leaving of offerings and petitioning the Spirits for help. In the old, old, old days, a turian joining their first platoon would have to sit vigil and ask the acceptance and protection of the spirit of that platoon. You'd memorize your platoon's history in preparation for that. We still do that bit," Garrus added. "Just not the vigil part. At least not unless you get yourself in trouble with a squad leader who has either an overdeveloped sense of the platoon's ancient grandeur or a sick sense of humor."

Shepard gave a snort of laughter. "Sounds about right."

"Yeah. There's that kind of people everywhere, in every species. Anyway. It's not just platoons - there are spirits of groups of people. spirits of cities, spirits of natural places, things like that. And if you... oh, let's say you were an artist, a sculptor, and you'd been commissioned to make a sculpture for the center of a square in the city of Ostra. You might go there, walk around in silence, and try to... get in touch with the spirit of Ostra, to gain its inspiration for your work. Or if you're governor of Ostra and you have a big decision to make, you might do the same thing, try to seek the inspiration of the spirit of the city to make the right decision. It's like that." 

"Do you believe in that? When you were on Menai, for instance..." 

"Eh..." Garrus's mandibles pulled tight, then spread out, and he gave a rolling, somewhat awkward shrug. "I don't know. I remember trying to touch the spirit of Saepinum, my home city, before I left for my military service. Everyone does that. And every now and then I guess something will remind me, or..." he an embarrassed cough, "or if I really feel like I need help with something..."

"You mean like in a big battle?" Shepard asked, curious.

"No, not so much then. Not _in_ the battle, anyway, there's not really time for that for the most part. More like before. That long shuttle trip to the deactivated Reaper ship. The morning before the relay. Waiting for the mercs when they had me cornered back on Omega. Those times... those times I guess I did reach out to something, try to get a little inspiration to get me through the doubts. Guess I got it, too," he added with a flash of broadened mandibles and a brilliant gleam in his blue eyes. "Funny thing, though - the answer kept coming in a shape that was _definitely_ not turian."

"Somebody was looking out for both of us that day, it felt like," Shepard agreed, snuggling contentedly up against his side and shifting so he could settle his arm around her shoulder. The warm, dry smoothness of Garrus' jaw brushed gently against her hair, a lipless kiss she'd grown to love. 

"It's... not exactly like that." Garrus brushed his mandible against her hair again, the puff of air from his breath warm against her scalp. "The spirits... they don't intercede directly for us, they're not... changing the roll of the dice to help whoever asks them. That's not how it works. I know some humans believe in that kind of thing, but--"

"It's okay, Garrus. I'm not insulted that you don't think some kind of divine intervention brought us back together."

"Okay." His talon stroked carefully along her forearm, so gentle that even un-gloved it left no mark. "It's... no insult to me if you do believe that, either," he added carefully. 

Shepard smiled against the rough fabric of his tunic and stroked the back of his hand in return. "You know me better than that, Garrus. We make our own luck in the universe. You and me both. Together."

"I just wanted to make sure." He turned his hand over and wove his fingers carefully with hers - something they'd had no end of trouble with early in their relationship, something that now felt totally natural and easy, just like so many other things. "Come on, Shepard. Why the sudden obsession with turian religious philosophy? This all can't really just be because you're afraid you'll hip-check a sacred shrine of some kind when we go see my parents next week. If that's all you're worried about, you'd be better off memorizing different types of cutlery. Way more likely to cause offense."

"Please, I've got that figured out from obnoxious formal Alliance dinners back on Earth, it can't be that different. Forks and knives from the outside in, glasses from the inside out." 

Garrus twisted to look at her. "I have no idea what you're talking about; you realize that, right?" 

"Okay, so maybe I should look up the cutlery, too." Shepard laughed softly. "I just... realized, more than anything else, that I know _you_ , but I don't really know very much about your culture. Not really. Not like the way I feel like I should if we're going to go meet your parents together."

"They're not going to care that you haven't memorized the whole history and sociology of the Hierarchy, Shepard. You've been just a little busy ever since we got together."

"I did read about it, though," she said quietly. "When I was stuck on house arrest, on Earth, I had more time than I knew what to do with. They locked me out of most current affairs news feeds, but I had all the encyclopedia entries and historical data access I could have wanted. I even tried to learn some turian."

"Oh, _that_ must have gone well..." Garrus laughed. 

"Yeah, I figured out pretty quick that I wasn't going to be reading you turian love poetry any time soon. Turns out it's a little too easy for the human vocal system to get the inflection completely wrong and wind up saying 'your grandmother eats beetles for lunch' when I meant to say 'your crest reminds me of the mountains,' or something. And that's not even counting the subtones."

"I can imagine."

"So yeah, I wound up reading everything we had on turian history and culture instead. Which wasn't as much as it really should be, I might add. The Alliance hasn't done a great job with including cultural information, at least of the variety that isn't 'how to prevent further interplanetary incidents.'"

"If it makes you feel any better, that sounds like right about what our records have on human culture."

"Well, that's something at least." Shepard sighed. "Let's face it, our two societies haven't exactly been leaping at peaceful cultural exchange since they stopped trying to kill each other." 

"Good thing we're doing pretty well at figuring it all out on our own, then." Garrus bent and pressed his forehead lightly to hers. "Shepard, my parents aren't going to care that you can't... greet them in fluent turian and impress them with your understanding of our religious systems, such as they are. You almost single-handedly won the war against the Reapers on behalf of the whole galaxy. And if there's one thing turians understand and care about in members of other species, its military service and prowess. They know your record, and they're going to respect that. Enough that they _might_ even dismiss the grave mistake you've made in picking their worthless, wastrel, rebel of a son for a partner."

He was mostly kidding about that last bit, Shepard could tell. Mostly. "They have to know how important you were to the war effort, Garrus. You were Primarch Victus' closest confidant and advisor for the whole war, surely they're aware of that fact."

"Oh, they know. And my father and I have... what's that marvelously evocative human phrase? 'Buried the hatchet,' isn't it?" 

"That's the one. And I'm glad."

"But it's only a matter of time til he finds something else that I'm doing to dishonor our family," Garrus remarked blithely - almost proudly, Shepard thought. They really had found some common ground in the last months, him and his father, and all of Garrus' fussing and complaining about how stiff and by-the-book his father was now had almost a gloating, humble-bragging edge to it, in much the same way that he mocked his own status as a supposed turian bad-boy. "It's just how he is."

"Never happy with anything short of perfection, huh?" Shepard reached up and stroked the blue lines across Garrus' face, and smiled when he turned into her touch with a soft, low hum. "Sounds just like another turian I know."

"It's a species-wide failing, I'm afraid. Or at least family-wide," he corrected quickly. "I wouldn't want you to get the idea that all turians are interchangeable. You might decide to trade up for a model with better scars."

"Never gonna happen." Shepard grinned and ran gentle fingers on the remaining telltale marks on his face. "Anybody else's scars couldn't be nearly as impressive, since I wasn't there to see them get made."

"Ha. Yeah, well, it's not every idiot who'll take a missile to the face just to have a better chance with the woman he's in love with, I guess."

"That takes a special kind of crazy," Shepard agreed, and stretched up to kiss the scar, then the center of his forehead. "Good thing it's exactly the kind I like."

"So you'll let all this go now?" Garrus asked cautiously.

"I'm not going to say I'll never ask you another question about turian culture, Garrus. It's part of you, I want to understand it."

"Sure, but for right now..." 

"For now, I promise I will restrict myself to the utilitarian necessities. Like cutlery. And like getting you out of that tunic."

Garrus' voice hummed with pleased subtones as she wiggled her fingers under the edge of the heavy cloth. "You already know how to get me out of that tunic..."

"Sure. But I've got to keep in practice, don't I? Especially if we're going to have to do things quietly while we're at your parents' house..."

"Now that..." Garrus' hum turned into a groan as Shepard's hands mapped the familiar path up his abdomen, "is logic I wouldn't dare argue with..."


End file.
